


Stoneheart

by Ophelia_Black



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Gen, Petrified Zelda, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_Black/pseuds/Ophelia_Black
Summary: The prophetic visions and blind musings of Princess Zelda as she waits, sealed in stone, for a rescue that might never arrive.





	Stoneheart

**Author's Note:**

> Of course the goddess Hylia didn’t exist when Minish Cap came out, but I’m just trying to do my part for the poor Zelda timeline by mentioning her in here.  
> \- Ophelia

It is dark.

She feels neither warm nor cold, neither wet nor dry, neither hard nor soft. Often, she wonders whether she has a body left at all, so little can she interact with it. She tries to lift her arm, but she might as well be trying to lift someone else’s arm, for all the good it does. She settles for wiggling her fingers, but with no luck there. Indeed, it feels as though she has no fingers at all, nor a hand to attach them to. Her eyes are open, weren’t they open? Didn’t she see that blinding light overtake her? But she cannot blink, and she cannot see.

It is dark.

Can she hear her name being spoken, being cried out by the Minister, being whispered by her father? Can she hear him direct his soldiers to carry her to his throne room, ordering them to handle her body gently, to set her down where she might sit in the sun? But she feels no warmth, sees no light.

In her mind’s eye she can see the sparkling stained-glass windows of the throne room, and the multicolored patterns that would dance across the floors and walls as the sun travelled across the sky. She recalls how, in the event of some formal royal function, she would don a gown of flowing white silk, and would wait for the colored light to strike the fabric and create interesting patterns to save her from the agonizing boredom. It rarely happened, and Zelda sometimes took to sneaking into the room when it was empty, dancing around those rainbow patches to create the dazzling effect for herself. Once, her father had asked why she insisted on wearing the same outfit to every event, and upon hearing her explanation, he had laughed and took care to position her near the windows.

Is she in that position now? How often King Daltus had entreated his willful daughter to remain still and quiet while the adults were working, how she had squirmed with discomfort at every passing minute. Is it easy for him to pretend that he had gotten his wish? A king’s primary duty is to his kingdom, he had told her, so many times that the words had nearly lost meaning. She’d tell him she understood, of course, but there were times that she could not hide her resentment that she, his only child, was only a secondary concern.

Time passes, oh how much time passes, or is it no time at all? Every second is identical to the one before it, with only her thoughts to keep her company. She cannot see or feel the passage of the sun, and she knows neither hunger nor thirst. And so Princess Zelda waits, and waits.

She recalls that her eyes are still open, but she can neither see through them nor even feel their existence, so what difference does it make? She wants them closed for sleep, and so closed they become, and who could say that the darkness and the quiet was not merely the peaceful stillness of her own bedroom?

The darkness was the easiest to get used to, compared to the loss of her other senses. It had long been a source of pride to the young princess that she had no longer required a candle in her room from the age of three onwards, although perhaps a fear of the dark was more common in children who did not sleep with armed guards patrolling their homes. Nevertheless, a bragging point is a bragging point, and she had needed the clout when she began public school and had her classmate’s image of spoiled and pampered royalty to break.

She had enjoyed the noise and energy of the school, if perhaps she found the frequent shrieking of the rowdy children a bit unrefined. The castle had often seemed sleepy in comparison, but isn’t that just what she wants now? In her mind, Zelda closes her eyes, and she sleeps.

She cannot know how long it has been before the monotony breaks. She hears something, and for a moment she thinks nothing of it, until she realizes how very extraordinary it is that her useless ears seem to be functioning again. She strains to listen, mentally screwing her face up tight in concentration. It’s a voice, then more than one, growing louder and clearer by the second.

_A chorus of voices sound around her, unintelligible but clearly filled with glee. Are they excited for her, is she being rescued? Her heart soars, but she cannot understand the voices, it’s as though they speak a language she had never heard of. They chatter and chirp and excitement fills her like water fills a jug, until the princess feels that she might shatter from the pressure of it._

_Come help me! Come save me! She wants to call out to them, but her mouth will not open, and she can hear hurried footsteps as the crowd darts away…_

No sound replaces the footsteps, and Zelda deflates like an old balloon. Silence presses in on her once more, and her thoughts seem to echo around her unmoving head with unbearable volume.

 _It must have been some memory. Perhaps you were just remembering the Picori Festival, there were loads of people there._ It was the only explanation that made sense, but it had felt so real. She imagines the festival, how it had seemed so much more vibrant and exciting than it had in the years past. She refuses to think of what had happened afterwards, at the award ceremony that ruined everything. _Weren’t the decorations nice, Zelda? Hadn’t everyone been so happy?_ The princess thinks of the festival, challenging herself to recall every tiny detail of the town on that day. Where had the balloons been placed? What color had the banners been? What sorts of pastries had the bakery put out, how did they smell? Since being cursed, Zelda had no need for sustenance, but she can still imagine her stomach rumbling at the memory.

_When all this is over, I’m going to go into town and get a slice of pie._

One day, or perhaps one night, a strange sensation overtakes the princess. A tickle creeps up the back of her throat, and she realizes that she wants to sneeze. It is something she had felt before, many times beyond count, but what makes it strange is that there is any sensation at all. Her heart lifts, and Zelda prays to every deity she had ever heard of that her curse might be weakening. She tries to force her nose to twitch and her eyes to close, but they remain stubborn as ever, as still and unseeing as ever.

Until they’re not.

_The world takes shape before her in a burst of color and light. She wants to blink against it, to shield herself from the sudden onslaught, but her vision does not waver. An acrid smell stings her nose and sets her eyes watering, and she feels a hand reach up to wipe away a tear. Skin touches skin, and the softness of her own flesh makes her want to weep. Yet the hand moves without her leave, and so does her head, turning to look at a mouse-like man who stands in a snug little house. He speaks in a voice that’s high pitched and excitable, even to the ears of a child. He squeaks about a new invention, his hands gesticulating in eagerness. She wants to speak to him, but while she witnessed her own body moving once more, she is unable to force it to obey her will. Her mouth does not open, but hands reach out to accept a package from the strange man, hands that she now sees are not her own…_

The vision vanishes once more, as does the sneeze that had been building. Zelda’s mind reels with the whiplash, though of course her body does not. Nevertheless, excitement grips her as she replays the memory of the image again and again. She had seen, she had felt, she had _moved_ , she had been alive for the briefest of moments.

What was that smell? And who was that man? He was no Hylian, she is sure of that, but he was no Goron either. The only thing that she can think of, crazy as it sounds, is that he had resembled those old depictions of the Picori who had given the Hero his weapons to protect Hyrule. Her father had told her, once or twice, that the old legends had been true, but that the information must be kept secret within the royal family. How she had beamed with pride that he had trusted her with the truth, but Zelda had not given the matter any thought since then. After all, were there not a great many secrets kept by the royal family?

The matter puzzles her for a time, and with nothing else to occupy her, Zelda allows herself to be taken in by the mystery. What had the vision meant? Who and what was the man? What was in the package that he had handed her? With no further information, answers elude the girl, and there is nothing left to do but wait and hope that she might dream again.

Once more, Zelda tries to close her unblinking eyes, and calms her mind into sleep. She thinks of gentle things at first, the lapping of the waters of Lake Hylia against the shore, and how cold it felt against her bare feet when she’d dip them in. She thinks of the long grasses of Hyrule Field, and how she’d run her hands through them, the smell of the earth rich in her nose.

_She thinks of a terrible beast, wreathed in flame and shielded with armor hard as any ore, lurking in a sea of lava. She stands before it, clutching tightly to a wooden staff that’s both laughably inadequate and her only hope. Her other hand grips a sword, but what blade could possibly pierce that stone hide? The creature roars and the world shakes, earth and fire raining down from above, as though Din herself raged against them. She dodges the falling boulders with a graceful ease that shocks her, and the monster retaliates with a gout of fire that torrents from its terrible jaws. Sweat runs down her face in sheets, the heat radiating from the lava searing her to the soul, but hotter still is the blood roaring through her veins._

_She leaps forward with a cry in a voice that’s not her own, filled not with fear but exhilaration…_

The unbearable heat vanishes suddenly and completely, as though the princess had been plunged in ice. She waits for a shiver to race up her spine, but it does not, and the sensation of temperature quickly begins to fade once more. In seconds, the weight of the sword in her hand lightens, as does the weight of her hand, until she can no longer feel her limbs at all. She forces herself to concentrate, instead, on that warrior’s shout. It was not her voice, but one that she had known all her life, her dearest friend. _Am I… am I seeing through Link’s eyes?_

The discovery excites and frightens her. The women of her family had long been known to possess secret powers, remnants of the great and mysterious powers of the old goddess Hylia, reborn into her own royal ancestor so many generations before. She did not know how she had repelled those monsters that the stranger brought forth at the ceremony, only that an odd power had flowed through her. She had, in the uncountable time that passed since, attributed this to adrenaline, but had it not been a feeling entirely different to how she, or how Link, had felt facing the beast in the flames? She had known no fear, yes, but also no thrill, and no _purpose_. A golden light had escaped her and the world had been thrown into a more ideal arrangement, but had she decided what would happen, would she not have simply returned the monsters to their prison? It troubles her, to think that some other power might use her in such a way, that she might be only a vessel to that force and a puppet to its whims.

But prophecy, now that Zelda can take interest in. Scholars had obsessed over every facet of what few divinations had been recorded in history, most of which had come to some Princess or Queen Zelda or other in dreams. They had been renowned for their accuracy, if not for their great detail or clarity. _Those dreams always spoke in riddles, everything was hidden behind some symbol._ She thinks of what she had just seen and felt, of the subterranean battle against a hideous creature armored in rock…

Her heart sinks. _Am… am I the monster? Was Link fighting against me?_ But he wouldn’t, he would never harm her, nor would she harm him. She forces back the panic that wants to rise in her, to disturb the silent stillness of the stone. Prophecies cannot be changed, after all. There has to be something positive in what she saw, something to look forward to.

_When do I get to learn to breathe fire?_

 

Boredom quickly becomes Zelda’s greatest enemy, worse than she could ever have imagined. She longs to shout and jump and run, as she might have done throughout the castle when a rainy day kept her inside. She would even settle for fidgeting and squirming, as she so often did during her father’s formal events. She wants to clench her hands into fists as helplessness turns to anger, but she has no fingers, no arms, nothing. She is nothing.

As the monotony of petrification grows unbearable, the young girl cannot stop herself from thinking about what she had seen in her dream. She worries at it like a dog with an old bone, gnawed through until all use is sucked out, but refusing to let it go. What else is there for her to do?

She thinks about the moments before she had been cursed, when Link had watched the stranger toss aside a group of soldiers like wads of crumpled paper, but leapt to her defense at once. Did he feel then how he felt in her vision, fighting that monster, horribly under-equipped but rushing before her anyway? She had given him that shield, that stupid tiny shield she had won in the raffle, why couldn’t they have raffled off a larger, more useful one?

_A shield to protect against what? There were no monsters, there was no danger. It all happened so fast…_

But not fast enough, Zelda remembers having time to scream before that ball of dark energy hit her. She had thought it was ice, at first, so cold had she suddenly felt, colder than she had ever been in her entire life. When the feeling went away, as rapidly as it had come, she had just enough time to feel relief before she looked down and saw the sheet of grey advancing up her numb legs. Her eyes had widened and she tried to open her mouth to scream again, but it was already over.

The absolute cold, followed by complete detachment, wasn’t that also how she had felt when the dream of that monster had ended? _Think about the dreams, Zelda, don’t think about the ceremony. It won’t help._

And so she thinks about the dreams instead, and puzzles once more about their meanings. Shouldn’t they be more cryptic? Was there any link between the first and second ones? She had decided that those voices she had heard that first time had been Picori, as they had sounded like the man from the first vision, but still could not figure out what they had been cheering for. Again, the lack of further information resulted in a lack of further insight, and the excitement of her discovery leaks out of the princess until she’s left as placid as the lifeless stone around her.

When Zelda next hears a voice again, she perks up at once, ready to receive another vision to obsess over. She sees nothing, feels nothing, but listens eagerly instead.

The man she hears now is no Picori, as before, but one with a voice that’s deep and sure; and what’s more, Zelda recognizes it in an instant. King Daltus speaks in his most authoritative tone, and she can imagine her father standing beside her, addressing a crowd in his throne room. The princess no longer wishes for a vision to accompany the sound, as she is able to imagine the scene perfectly.

“You all know of the power the Picori gave to mankind, do you not? The golden light force of limitless magical power… I want it! It is somewhere here in Hyrule! Go now, and bring me this power!”

Surprise washes over Zelda, even more so than at having heard her father’s voice at all. _What on earth would you want with the light force, Father? You know exactly where it is, and that neither of us can touch it. Do you think you can use it to undo this curse?_ The king continues, and shock turns to horror as his voice freezes over with an icy menace.

“Waste no time! Go forth at once, and bring me the light force! Fling anyone who refuses into the dungeon! Him and his family, too!”

All falls silent again, and the girl listens carefully, in case Daltus comes back. He does not, and eventually Zelda gives up, feeling sick. She wishes she had never heard anything at all, cursing the gods for having forced her to hear her beloved parent speak so cruelly. The king had always treated his subjects warmly, and Zelda had grown up knowing the guards and servants almost as family. Theirs was a time of peace, and their rule was one of generosity and mercy.

 _These visions are only dreams, aren’t they? Everyone has bad dreams. Father would never say something so terrible, there must be some symbol here. You cannot take everything so literally._ She tries to focus, instead, on happier memories of her father, of the man she knew to be kind and friendly. She thinks of her family, and her friends, and the life that she was sure she would one day return to.

 

As time passes, to her best estimation, the princess discovers that her memories of her precious collection of dreams grows hazy. Despite her efforts to mentally replay every detail of the foreign scenes, Zelda finds herself unable to recall that unusual smell that had made her want to sneeze, or even the sensation of heat that had been so painfully overwhelming in the fire monster’s lair. A low dread begins to take her, as she imagines the memories of her former life being swallowed by the unyielding stone in turn, once it had finished devouring the scenes she had been gifted.

Reasoning that the prophecies of her family were divine in nature, Zelda takes to praying, though she feels silly for attempting to speak to any being that will never speak back to her. She prays to Din for the power to break the stone that binds her, she prays to Nayru for the wisdom to puzzle out the meaning of her dreams, she prays to Farore for the courage to remain calm through this nightmare. Above all, she prays to Hylia to send her more visions, and to protect the ones that she had been granted so far.

_Please, show me something, anything. Show me my father, show me Link, let me see what’s happening out there. If none of you can free me, at least let me feel alive again._

Whether by the goddesses’ mercy, or another power entirely, Zelda eventually gets her wish, and finds herself in a new dream.

_A lifeless cavern, awash with a blue light that sparkles off the ice coating every surface. Her breath mists in the air before her, her body a mess of shivering gooseflesh and chattering teeth. She takes a hesitant step, and her feet slide out from beneath her, slipping on the ice. She catches herself, pain blooming from her weight landing on her knee against the unyielding ground, and an unfamiliar voice sounds in her ear, chiding her to be more careful. She looks down at the floor, and can nearly see through it, where an endless chasm waits below. She can see a giant flower suspended in the ice, each petal far larger than her own body. She thinks she recognizes the species as one that grows on the shores of Lake Hylia, a perfectly common flower that blossoms in the spring. How on earth did this specimen get so big?_

_She rises to her feet again, crouching low to spread her weight over the treacherous ice as she sets out once more across the frozen cave…_

It’s a relief when the cold vanishes. Had Zelda not been so practiced at avoiding thinking about That Ceremony, she might consider how it was even colder than the stranger’s curse hitting her had been. She contents herself, instead, by imagining herself ice skating with her friends and classmates. The local children had been strictly forbidden from skating on the lake in the winter, warned that the ice was not as thick as it seemed, and that the water was deeper than they knew.

She imagines the ice being just as thick and sturdy as in her dream, and feeling safe and comfortable as snowflakes stick in her hair from above and massive flowers bloom below their feet. Her lips do not move, but the princess smiles at the thought nonetheless.

Even by her own distorted reckoning, it’s unusually soon before light and color take shape before the princess once again. The vision is hazy, the sounds are muffled, but Zelda can make out the form of a man.

_Not just any man, but the king of Hyrule stands before her. Not stands, no, but floats? The figure is transparent, and she had heard enough ghost stories whispered between the castle staff to know what that means. He speaks, but his voice is hardly audible over the blood rushing in her ears. Her breath comes in heavy gasps as though she had just run a marathon, and her limbs feel sore and heavy, as though they too were carved from stone. She hunches over, chest heaving and sweat stinging her eyes, awash with weariness but also burning with a fierce pride._

_The ghost fades away, and the vision begins to dim as a different voice sounds in her ear, clear and sharp, urging her to continue on their quest…_

It is an unusual sensation, feeling the vitality flowing back into her limbs as the dream ends, but still unable to turn that strength into action. Zelda feels wide awake and alert, and how dearly she wishes that she could send some of that useless energy to her friend. More urgent than her concern for Link, however, is her concern for that unearthly figure of the king.

 _Was that… my father? Has something happened to him?_ Fear floods through her, hot and overwhelming. The ghost had looked older than Daltus ever had, his voice wearier, but was not to be expected? _How long has it been, how long have I been here?_ She does not know. She cannot know.

The silent darkness that had become her entire world closes in around her, and the young princess allows herself to be pulled into its crushing embrace.

 

Had she not been so consumed by misery, it may have interested Zelda to note how her visions seemed to be appearing with increasing frequency. When the next one begins to take over her, she feels a flash of anger. _Always I am alone in silence, except when I want to be left to grieve in peace?_ But the dream was not to be denied, and despite her best efforts, her body began to move and take in the scene around her.

_She looks up and sees nothing above her but endless blue, a clearer day than she had ever seen. Her classmates would often run into Hyrule Field to fly kites on a day like this, and she would beg her father to be allowed to join them, to run and play like any other child. He would relent, if only because they both knew that she would end up in that field with or without his permission. More often than not the children were disappointed to learn that the lack of clouds does not necessarily indicate an excess of wind, but it wouldn’t stop them from racing across the grass, trailing limp kites behind them and breathless with laughter._

_But there is wind here, oh she can feel it, tugging at her hair as it races past, fierce and cold against her skin, her skin that had lost all sensation too long ago. Her joy sours, and suddenly she feels disconnected from the dream, aware that she is no more than a stranger in someone else’s skin. Link looks down and her eyes follow through his, and she no longer wishes to be by his side. He stands upon a cloud, soft and insubstantial beneath his feet, and she can see Hyrule stretched out so very far below him. He takes a step forward, his stride confident even as she wants to cry out for him not to move, to stay perfectly still and safe like she does…_

The vision fades, and so too does the nausea that had begun to rise in her. Zelda finds herself missing the sensation, not because it had been pleasant but because it had been real, had been human. She clings to the memory of that vibrant shade of blue, refusing to lose it to the smothering blackness that had taken away everything else she had. The sky was blue and the wind had howled around her, she _has_ to remember, she has to keep that feeling close. She feels as though the gale’s ferocity had scoured her clean, had lifted her from her shell of anguish. _Be reasonable now, Zelda. These are only dreams, you have no reason to believe that Father has been harmed. These are only dreams._

She forces herself to relax, to remember that none of this was real, however it may feel otherwise. _It’s not real. It’s not real._

Time passes, or perhaps it doesn’t, but Zelda long ago (or was it only hours before?) learned not to trouble herself with such useless notions as time. When she hears the man speaking to her, she assumes that she must have fallen asleep, and is disappointed that there’s no accompanying vision. The voice is clearer than any sound had been since she was cursed, and she hears it as naturally as if she still had functioning ears, but every other part of her is as still and useless as ever.

“Good evening, princess. Heh heh, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

 _How silly. I can hardly run away._ Something about the way the voice laughs unsettles her, and she knows that her hair should be standing on end. The voice is vaguely recognizable, high-pitched and taunting, but not the voice of any of her classmates. Was it someone she had heard in a vision? She is spared further contemplation by the speaker introducing themselves, and just as soon Zelda wishes that he was indeed a stranger.

“We had only met briefly before, I’m afraid. I am Vaati, the great sorcerer. And you, Princess Zelda… you have something of mine.” He laughs again. “Two things, actually. The curse that I gave you, and the light force, that you will be giving me.”

 _Why is everybody looking for the light force? First my father, now this man?_ An unpleasant thought occurs to her, and Zelda’s confusion gives way to suspicion. _My father knows where the force is, he’s always known. You did not, didn’t you? You used him to try to find it._ She can only imagine what sort of action the sorcerer could have taken to force the king into making that announcement to his men, the one she had heard where his words were so terrible and his voice so cold and menacing. _That was only a dream_ , she reminds herself hastily.

“You won’t need to do a thing,” Vaati assures her, his voice laced with mocking concern. “I have a ritual all prepared for you.”

Unlike her previous dreams, Zelda does not need to concentrate to make out the sorcerer’s words, but his proximity is no blessing. Unable to respond to his taunting, she can now clearly hear as he goes about preparing his ceremony, muttering and giggling to himself as he paces back and forth before her. As he promised, there is nothing for her to do but wait, and wait.

Suddenly, Vaati’s footsteps stop mid-stride. She hears the swishing of a cloak and imagines him turning on the spot to face an intruder, and her heart rises at his next words.

“You _are_ persistent, aren’t you?”

It’s Link, it must be, she had seen him travel and fight his way across Hyrule and now he’s finally here to help her. Surely, she only needs to wait a little bit longer. _You’re strong enough for this, Zelda. What more can Vaati possibly do to you? What more could he take away?_

Vaati laughs at Link, wherever he might be. “A mere three chimes of the bell will bring the ceremony to its end! And with the third toll of the bell, I will become like a god! And your precious Princess Zelda will be nothing more than cold, dead stone.”

_…Oh._

Satisfied with his taunting, Zelda hears the sorcerer move closer to her, taking up a position directly before her. An odd chanting rises from him, in a language she had never heard before. As it continues, the girl allows herself to be impressed with her to-be killer, as the words flow from him smoothly and without pause, yet also without the telltale rustle of paper to indicate that he was merely reading off a book. She hopes he gets a word wrong, but then fears for the result that a failed ceremony would have on her. But could it be worse, really, than the successful ritual, tearing the light force from her and finally turning her mind and heart to stone as well?

She hopes he gets a word wrong.

The first bell tolls.

It’s a single note, deep and clear, and the shiver that ought to run down Zelda’s spine never comes. She always loved the castle’s bells, which would sound for special ceremonies. _Father was going have them ring for the Picori Festival this year, to call it to an end. I was looking forward to it._ The large bell in Hyrule Town was rung even less frequently; the townspeople often said that something very special would happen if it did. The king had dismissed this as a baseless rumor, when she told him, but the children were fascinated by the object nonetheless.

The second bell tolls.

Zelda wants to scrunch her eyes shut tight and curl into a ball, a defensive measure she had deployed often as a child afraid of nightmares. She feels so much more than a child now, and what nightmare could ever be worse than her present reality? More than anything, she wants the blanket of silence to return. How often had she prayed for her senses to return to her, had strained to catch any sound possible, but now that she has her wish the knowledge is utterly unbearable. She’s safe where it’s quiet, quiet and dark where nobody bothers her. _What good is this stone if it cannot protect me?_ It’s no good, it’s no good at all, she knows that, but she cannot escape it, she cannot change it.

Vaati stops chanting, and she can hear him move about in front of her. He laughs to himself, and after a moment he steps closer to her. He speaks again, his voice a low whisper, and she imagines him leaning close to her ear, as though telling her a secret.

“Only a few moments more, my princess. Who knows? Maybe it won’t hurt.” He laughs again, and she wants to lash out at him, to smack that miserable smirk right out of his smug voice. The sorcerer’s mirth falls away as he sighs, as if disappointed, and she wonders if he had also expected her to hit him. _Take off the curse, if you’re so powerful_ , she fumes. _Take it off and fight me like a man!_ Young girls in Hyrule were often forbidden from roughhousing, and young princesses even more so, but Zelda would happily give over every speck of this stupid light force for a chance to land the punch of the ages against him.

But the curse remains intact, and the sorcerer remains tragically unpunched. Vaati moves back again, and back and back, abruptly walking away from her. His footsteps fade away, and she does not hear him return. _The coward, what weakling has to hide behind magic?_ She calls him every name she can think of, and when that list quickly runs out she moves onto insults of her own invention.

The third bell never tolls.

There is no sound around her, just as she had been hoping for, but the silence fills Zelda with dread rather than peace. Had her hearing been taken away from her again, or was there nothing there to hear? Where was Vaati? And where was Link?

Guilt and shame rises in her; if anything happened to Link, it would be all her fault, for being so stupid and weak and helpless that she couldn’t save herself, that he needed to put his own life in peril to save hers. There should be a burning in the back of her throat and a stinging in her eyes, Zelda knows the tears should be rising but they don’t, and perhaps that’s for the best. _The last thing I want is for Vaati to see me crying. He won’t see me cry and he won’t hear me beg him to stop_. He would have to free her from the curse if he wished to see or hear those things, but it feels good to take that vow to herself, to pledge the only action she knows she can deliver on, stone or not.

Vaati does not return. Link does not appear. The third bell does not toll.

 _Did it work? Is it over?_ Zelda thinks she hears a faint ring of metal on metal, somewhere below her, but is the sound real? It reminds her of days spent visiting Link at his grandfather’s house, watching the old man work at his forge. The house would ring with the clanging of metal as he heated and pounded out his steel bars, allowing the children to watch him at his work if the weather did not permit them to play outside. Zelda wishes she were back there now, safe and warm, where her only concern was how long it would take before the Minister came to fetch her back home. She hears the sound again, but it is not the sound she had been dreading, the deep ringing of the third bell.

_Am… am I dead?_

She does not know. How could she ever tell, cut off from the world as she was?

Minutes ache past, each second lasting a lifetime to the petrified princess. She loses herself to her thoughts, drowning in despair that echoes around and around her otherwise unoccupied mind. She thinks of her father, and how dearly she’d like to see him again. If they were both truly dead, should she not be able to see him now? But she does not know, she cannot know, not with only a foggy, exhausted memory of a ghost and a silent, dark existence to inform her. _Does it make a difference, really, if I were living or dead, if I’m stone either way?_

Arranged behind the altar that she stands on are a group of torches, their green flames burning hotter than any natural blaze, but Zelda does not feel the scorching heat on her back. Unseeing eyes look over the tower and out across Hyrule field, crawling with monsters, and Hyrule Town, where the terrified residents take shelter and the few remaining guards strengthen their resolve and their grips on their spears. Zelda does not feel the flames or see her kingdom, and she does not hear the rasp of metal as a gleaming golden sword is drawn before her, nor does she hear the shout of the boy who wields it.

A beam of light bursts from the blade and wraps around the statue, who shakes violently at the impact.

The first thing she feels is the wind whipping her face, and she wonders if she’s back in her last dream again, the one above the clouds. The gale roars in her ears, almost unbearably loud. Her heart beats faster and she scrunches her eyes shut, not wanting to see the ground so dizzyingly far below her again. _But I want to see that sky again, I want to remember it._ Slowly, she opens her eyes, and her body obeys her command.

Vision returns to Zelda, and her startled eyes land upon her best friend. Link stands before her, sheathing the sword with a practiced hand.

She looks down at him, past his eager grin and into his laughing eyes. Those eyes in that same shade of blue she had worked so hard to remember, the secret vision she held close to her heart of the open sky above the clouds. _I knew he was coming for me._ She feels weightless, as though she were a cloud herself, ready to float right away. Zelda can see and move and breathe and feel again, she’s _alive_ again, but no sensation overwhelms her quite so much as the sudden fullness of her heart as she looks upon her friend, who had gone through such ordeals to save her. She knows she ought to thank him, but what words could ever be enough for what he had done?

The princess leaps down from the altar, the impact of her landing shaking but exhilarating her. She takes a step, unsure on her feet, but manages another, and another, until she’s close enough to throw her arms around Link. He stinks of sweat and blood and dust and it’s not a pleasant smell, not at all, but it’s so undeniably human that it delights her all the same. She pulls him in tight, and his responding laugh shakes them, and she can feel it, she can feel it, she can feel the warmth of their skin and the wind battering the tower they stand upon and the way it sets her hair flying and the way it brushes her skin and the way Link’s arms tighten around her when it becomes clear that she doesn’t intend to let him go soon.

She laughs, high and breathless, sounding every bit the young girl she had stopped feeling like a long time ago. She can feel her grin spreading wide across her face, and Link’s in return, his cheek pressed against hers. She closes her eyes, but the darkness does not scare her; she suspects that there will come a time when it might greet her like an old friend, but the curse is far too recent for that. Below them, Vaati prepares to bring down the castle and make his final stand, but the children do not know that yet. For now, Princess Zelda knows only joy.


End file.
